Sunday, June 28, 2009



This evening had a great ending. After all the kids took showers, I said a prayer with some boys in their room as they lay in their beds. The prayer I've memorized is the Lord's prayer, so we prayed that as we did last night. Unfortunately, when we come to the part right after "give us this day our daily bread," I forget the rest of the phrasing in Romanian so I just said "Forgive us!" ("Iarta-ne!") and continued with, "Amen," and said, as we crossed ourselves, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost." All the boys seem to have a desire to participate in this prayer and show some kids of respect for God.

(A note on crossing myself: As a protestant, I don't have any qualms about doing this. I've given it some thought, and I love what it symbolizes, so I do it. For me the act does not hold supperstition, but faith.)

Then I kissed the boys once on both cheeks before I left, wishing them goodnight as they lay in their beds and I turned out the light as I went. Tonight Mihai said he didn't want to be kissed. "I will kiss you right here on your cheek," I said, pointing to the spot on my own cheek.

"No," he said again.

"Perhaps you want to kiss ME, instead?" I questioned.

"No," Mihai said. Bogdan giggled.

"Okay," I said pleasantly, "perhaps tomorrow?" and I left it at that.

When I went to kiss Mitica, who suffers from mental retardation, he was so eager to participate in the goodnight kiss that he just kept kissing my cheek reapeatedly and didn't seem reflect that it was I who had kissed the other other boys before him and not them who had kissed me. :-)

Mitica's giving act shows how the disabled are like missionaries to us who are not disabled. They bring us joy and show us what love is. The are messangers of a love that doesn't think of itself and a joy that won't be corrupted even when it is thrown in an orphanage and yelled at by non-disabled co-workers everyday. Unselfish love and joy is a gift that God has granted many of them, and of which we can be the unworthy recipiants.

After turning off the lights, I somehow found my way to the workers. They talked about sex and who was interested in who, but not understanding some made the chat made it more bareable to me, and I couldn't say I was invested completely in the conversation. I was partially invested in the fire that a young man was attending and the bosses eight-year-old son who was eager to douse any ember that fell on the ground from the fire, screaming "Pompierii, Pompierii, Pompierii!" as he did so (Pompierii = fire department).

At one point, when I was standing with the ladies around the firepit, the eight-year-old pretended to call me on a pretend phone.

"Hello?" I said, because I took the call, ofcourse.

"Hello," he said, "You've called the emergency number."

"Good," I said, "We need some firemen over here - quick!"


"In five minutes," I approximated.

I drank just a sip of tuica, Romanian country alchoholic drink that is served warm. The closest thing I've tasted to it is the Japanize drink you drink with sushi. It was very sweet, but enjoyable.

When I said goodnight and wished all the ladies a pleasant evening, it felt so good.

The sun had gone down and it was getting dark. The boss's husband teased me that there wreen't any bears to be afraid of, as I began the short walk to my cabin. "Good. I'm glad," I giggled.


At July 2, 2009 at 8:44 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

the little boy fireman is adorable! i love that you played along with him on the *phone*


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